


Left in Time

by MissJeeves



Series: Timely [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Crimes & Criminals, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJeeves/pseuds/MissJeeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan never got out of Harlan. Tim meets him and finds out why, naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left in Time

Audrey’s is suspiciously empty. The ladies of the evening, morning, and any old time they’re paid aren’t even there. Tim frowns. He’s used to criminal establishments magically vacating when the U.S. Marshals arrive. But never this quietly. There should be angry hookers and fleeing Johns. And Boyd Crowder should be here to sneer and protest against abuses perpetuated against small business owners by the federal government.

The lone occupant is lounged in a booth, head buried in a paperback book. It’s a man, but not one of Boyd’s thugs Tim knows on sight. The new hire is long and fit, not the body type Tim wants to have to tussle with.

“We’re closed,” the guy grouches, without looking up.

“U.S. Marshals,” Tim says, waving his badge. This doesn’t earn him a glance.

“Still closed.”

Tim walks closer to the booth, putting his badge away but keeping his jacket pulled aside to expose his weapon. Boyd’s thugs have terrible ideas and poor impulse control. He likes to look ready. It discourages the smarter ones.

“Ahem,” Tim says, when the man keeps reading. “You ain’t reading, I can see your lips aren’t moving.”

Sometimes Tim isn’t real smart, either, he’s been told.

“Hooked on Phonics worked for me, Deputy,” the man says, without any malice. He finally looks up, closes the book and sets it on the booth seat.

It takes a second for Tim to place the face. They’ve mapped out Boyd’s sprawling empire with mugshots and this guy, shockingly, didn’t have a recent one. He’d been in one fight with Boyd as a teenager, earned a simple assault charge, and been clean ever since. They also weren’t sure quite what he did for Boyd, now.

“What’s your name,” Tim asks, though now he remembers.

“Raylan Givens,” Raylan says, skipping the usual pointless defiance. “Want to see my ID?”

“Do I need to see your ID?” Tim retorts, since it gives him time to catch up with the unprecedented cooperation.

“It’s all the way under my ass,” Raylan says, with a lazy head shake. “You’d know if I had warrants.”

They don’t know what Raylan does for Boyd, but it’s probably not drugs. The man has healthy, clear skin and good teeth. He wears his hair longish, and it’s too thick and clean. His size would make for a good enforcer, but the rap sheet and the lack of scars don’t back it up.

“And you are?” Raylan prompts, after an moment, because Tim is just studying him.

“Deputy Tim Gutterson,” he says, automatically.

“You leave your card,” Raylan says, still remarkably friendly. “I’ll see Boyd gets it.”

“I didn’t say I was here for Boyd.”

Raylan smiles. It’s more like a smirk, the first crack in his mild, innocent façade.

“Earlier you implied I was poorly literate, but now I’m feeling my street smarts are being insulted,” he says.

Tim slides into a seat opposite Raylan in the booth. This gets him a quirked lip and somewhat tense, trapped expression that smoothes away in the next blink.

Raylan looks at him, waiting for the next question. When it doesn’t come, he tilts his head. “Want a drink?”

He taps the bottle of whiskey sitting next to a half finger in a glass.

“On the job,” Tim declines.

Raylan shrugs. “I find Jim Beam helps with a lot of jobs.” He purses his lips, bringing one hand up to his chin. It’s not a mindless gesture; Tim suddenly has the feeling this guy, Boyd’s whatever, is kind of flirting with him.

“Boyd doing hooker inventory or something?” Tim asks. “Fumigating?”

This gets a laugh. “Probably make the girls work through that,” he says. Raylan blinks at Tim a second longer. “I don’t know where he is. I’m not….” He trails off. “I’m just the janitor,” he says, after picking a lie. But it’s not malicious, just untrue. Raylan is still making steady eye contact and smiling like Tim doesn’t have a badge and gun on his belt during this conversation.

“This place is filthy,” Tim says.

“I am a shitty janitor,” Raylan says. “Put that in your files.”

“I will,” Tim promises. He has to stop looking at Rayan’s penetrating gaze, so he takes in the fitted, dark-washed jeans and designer t-shirt – a bit too tight – he can see through the sloppily buttoned flannel. “Where’s your jumpsuit?”

“What?”

“Janitors. Wear jumpsuits.”

Raylan shifts sideways. He fiddles, almost self-consciously, with a button on his overshirt, then looks back up. And that, oddly enough, stirs Tim’s attraction more than the more overt flirting.

“Inmates,” he says. “Inmates wear jumpsuits.”

“My mistake,” Tim says.

“Don’t think it was,” Raylan says, lightly. “You sat down. Make the pitch. Tell me to turn state’s witness against Boyd or I’ll wear an orange jumpsuit, the whole shebang.”

His fingers are toying with his hair. Tim half expects him to toss his head like a teenage girl.

“I don’t play baseball,” Tim tells him. “Game’s too long and pointless.”

“I played,” Raylan says, after a reminiscent pause. “It’s long and pointless ‘til someone gets hit with a bat.” From someone else, that would have sounded like a threat. But Raylan’s smooth demeanor hasn’t changed at all.

“That where you met Boyd?” Tim asks. “Little league?” Raylan shakes his head. “We can’t figure it out,” he says, plainly. “Every other one of Crowder’s associates is a violent degenerate for drugs or money.”

“I think that’s a compliment,” Raylan says, with a pleased little grin. “We dug coal together.”

“You and Boyd?” Raylan nods. “He didn’t do that for very long.”

They know everything about Boyd. He went from the holler to Desert Storm and went bugfuck crazy at some unknown point in between.

“Long enough for me.”

Raylan looks like he has distasteful memories of that experience.

“Suppose so,” Tim says. He knows he’s fortunate that he only has academic knowledge of coalmining.

“Why didn’t you follow your coalbuddy into the Army?” Tim asks, since Raylan is answering his questions truthfully, now.

Raylan shifts in his seat and gives a belittling smile. “I can’t do pushups,” he says.

His well-muscled arms say otherwise, but Tim lets it go.

“You didn’t want to leave Harlan?”

“Why would I ever?” It sounds genuine, but there’s a note of resignation. Raylan hesitates, then goes: “You know, I was almost a Marshal.”

He plays with his hair some more.

“Oh?” Tim’s genuinely surprised.

“You don’t have that on your files?” Raylan asks, looking doubtful.

More likely, no one thought it was important. A lot of Boyd’s employees had aspirations of law enforcement. Mostly directly related to their aspirations towards violence and corruption.

“What happened?” Tim asks.

“Now that, I bet you know,” Raylan says.

“Felony on your record?”

Raylan nods. He actually looks a little sad, but it vanishes again. “So I stuck around, worked for my daddy. Missed out on the good life, Deputy?”

Arlo Givens is another cockroach in Boyd and his daddy’s network of incredibly dangerous and greedy people, but Tim doesn’t let on to that.

“It’s an okay life,” he says. “It would be easier if someone would flip on Boyd Crowder.”

For some reason, that makes Raylan giggle. As in, like a school girl.

“I just told you everything there is to tell,” Raylan says, growing serious. “We have an accord.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know shit, so I can’t say shit, to anyone.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, then, what besides your terrible janitorial services do you provide Boyd?”

Raylan tilts his head. “I can’t tell you that. I can show you.”

He slides out of the booth, rising. Tim copies him. Raylan grabs something from the seat, sets a large cowboy hat on his head. It should be corny but Tim reluctantly admits it’s a good look for him. Fine as hell.

“This way,” Raylan says.

It’s only as Tim tries to keep his eyes off the denim curve of Raylan’s ass that he realizes he’s following a male prostitute back to his work trailer.

He pauses only for a second, long enough to snag the whiskey bottle off the table top.

~

“I thought I might lose you,” Raylan says, when they’re inside the single-wide in the back lot.

It’s not as small as it should feel, or as trashy as Tim expected. It’s clean and straight. Or not, Tim almost laughs to himself. There’s not much besides a large bed, on which Raylan is perched with his legs spread wide. The bedspread is a dark blue, and there’s no glitter or dildos anywhere. The light is kind of dim, but it doesn’t feel sleazy.

“I’m used to people trying to get away from me,” Tim says, aware of how cheesy he sounds. He has the whiskey in one hand, and it’s starting to feel like he needs some.

“Fugitives,” Raylan says, softly. “And the like.”

“And the like,” Tim repeats, as if it somehow applies here, specifically.

Raylan adjusts his position, spreading his legs impossibly wider. Tim has no choice but to stare at his crotch. The jeans are too tight to hide Raylan’s growing interest.

Tim doesn’t know how to react to that, so he cracks open the whiskey and takes a giant swig. It’s too much liquid, and it burns. Tim gasps and coughs, inelegantly.

Raylan doesn’t even laugh at him, just waits ‘til he can breathe again.

“Can I take that off you?” Raylan asks, all kinds of suave.

Tim has the slight feeling that he’s being played, but it’s hard to care that much when the guy doing it looks like this.

Tim nods and Raylan gently switches the bottle from Tim’s fingers to a table at the side of the bed.

“Can I take something else off you?” Raylan asks, in the same tone.

“Yeah,” Tim says, relieved he doesn’t sound as eager as he could.

Raylan reaches for Tim’s belt, and their hands suddenly meet at the holster Tim just remembered. Raylan’s fingers withdraw.

“You can put that in the trunk,” Raylan says, tilting his chin towards another piece of furniture against the wall. He knows better than to try to do it himself, or even touch the weapon, and Tim finds that even hotter.

He also puts his badge and his wallet in the trunk. This almost shakes him from the revere, but he’s also nearly bowlegged with need at this point, and Raylan calls him back to the bed before he can really think about it.

Tim starts undoing his own belt as he hurries back to Raylan.

“Didn’t know we were dancing,” Raylan says, with a chuckle. Then his fingers are shoving Tim’s jeans and boxers down and his mouth is on Tim’s cock.

“Fuck,” Tim wheezes, because Raylan just swallowed him down. He grabs at the man’s head, knocking the hat off so he can get a hold of his hair.

Raylan makes a noise in his throat and Tim almost comes right there.

Tim retreats, pulling Raylan away by the hair. It’s a little rough, but Raylan doesn’t resist.

He understands it’s too much and just keeps Tim in his mouth, working with his tongue. Even shallower, the heat and the talent almost overwhelms Tim. He’s dripping all over Raylan’s mouth, and his chin when he pulls out to prolong this. Tim’s legs aren’t going to hold him up if Raylan is this good.

Carefully, Raylan grips him by the hips and gently transfers him to a seat on the bed. Then Raylan crawls between his knees and goes back to the blowjob.

Tim takes advantage of the angle to undress Raylan. He tries not to rip the man’s clothing, but the buttons are a pain and Raylan isn’t helping. Shortly, he has Raylan shirtless and an expanse of muscled skin to touch.

“Get up here,” he orders, because he wants to try Raylan’s mouth.

Raylan pulls off with an audible smack, then plants a kiss on Tim’s balls. “Be right back,” he says, as he moves up to Tim’s face.

Kissing is good, and it gives him some relief from the possibility this might be over really shortly if Raylan’s mouth stays on his dick.

Tim enjoys Raylan’s weight on him and the hot, demanding mouth against his. He can taste himself, too.

There are still too many clothes involved, so Raylan helps him strip those off.

Soon, Raylan is rutting against Tim’s leg, hot and sticky.

“You want to fuck?” Tim asks, breathlessly. He has his hand between Raylan’s cheeks, slick with their own fluids. Raylan hasn’t smacked him away, so he figures it’s on the table.

“Yeah,” Raylan says, and forces himself to stop thrusting against Tim.

He rolls off, grabs lube from somewhere at the head of the bed. Tim catches the dispenser tossed at him.

“On your back,” Tim says, because he wants to see Raylan’s face.

Promptly, Raylan lies down, grabbing the backs of his knees and lifting his hips. The display is more than overwhelming and Tim has to focus on slicking himself up, not on Raylan’s proud erection and open ass.

Tim slides home with little prep. He selfishly enjoys Raylan’s little gasp as he struggles to take Tim’s girth. His hole is white with the stretch and Tim can’t take his eyes from it as he saws in and out.

“Fuck me already,” Raylan complains, with half a masochistic grin.

That’s a blatant challenge and Tim accepts.

He slams forward, jarring the bed on its frame. Raylan moans appreciatively and drives him on.

Tim grabs Raylan’s flushed cock and finds a stroking rhythm to match. Raylan’s flailing hands reach Tim’s shoulders, his fingernails digging in.

Raylan takes one hand off, trails it down Tim’s chest to pinch a nipple.

Tim’s hips snap forward and he’s gone. He feels the liquid heat of Raylan’s own orgasm against his hand, and then it’s lights out.

~

Slowly, Tim withdraws and pulls out of Raylan. Even sated, he still appreciates what he has before him. He gives Raylan’s flaccid cock a friendly stroke with one finger, watching the empty hole clenching below.

Raylan murmurs when Tim presses against his wrecked hole, doesn’t object when Tim slides two fingers back in. The path is slick with Tim’s come, which makes this even hotter. Tim sighs appreciatively and Raylan tries to laugh at him, but it turns into a moan when Tim adds a third finger.

Tim brings Raylan almost back to fullness, ignoring his own spent cock as he fingers Raylan’s tight, slick hole. He has four fingers inside Raylan, and the man gasping with every thrust.

But Raylan’s cock is all but done, and a second orgasm is out of reach.

Tim looks at his hand, almost entirely inside the heat of that hot ass. He could so easily have Raylan take his whole fist. He makes eye contact with Raylan, who thinks about it for a split second, then shakes his head.

“Next time,” Raylan says, and Tim carefully withdraws his fingers.

Raylan pulls him down for another kiss, the mess of their orgasms plastering between their bodies.

Somehow, they roll and Tim ends up on his back with Raylan on top.

Raylan sits back on his haunches, but even with his ass pressed back near Tim’s dick, it’s not coming back to life.

All the same, Raylan shifts backwards, then leans down and licks Tim’s belly where their come is mixed.

“Yeah, clean it up,” Tim says, eyes glued to the man pressed against him. “Well, you are a janitor,” he says, and Raylan’s laugh is hot against his skin.

Raylan licks some more. “If you say so,” he says.

~

Afterwards, Tim is awkward and itchy inside his clothes, the sweat and come drying to his skin. Raylan doesn’t bother to get dressed more than throwing on his boxers, a sign that the sex is done. He’s not unaware of how attractive he is like this, and Tim has to concentrate hard to keep his hands to himself. Raylan could easily get him to go again, once he can.

“There much of a market, here in Harlan?” Tim asks, trying to focus on something besides the red marks in the shape of his hands still visible on Raylan’s hips, just above his waistband.

“I do okay,” Raylan says. He waits. “You going to tell the Marshals what I do for Boyd?”

He makes eye contact with Tim and waits.

“What do you do for Boyd?” Tim prompts.

Raylan gives a little smile, and doesn’t answer.

Tim has to ignore the vicious flash of jealousy when he realizes Boyd has been in this bed, that his handsome bedmate is part of that psychopath’s web of sex and drugs. He rises, collecting his weapon, badge, and wallet from their hiding place.

Raylan watches him, seemingly amused when Tim hesitates with his wallet.

“Trying to decide if I’ll be offended if you try to pay or not?” Raylan asks.

“Yeah,” Tim says, honestly. He’s not sure, but puts his billfold away.

“Good choice,” Raylan says. “I’d have to slap you.”

“Maybe I like that,” Tim says, going back to flirty because it’s preferable to thinking.

“Noted,” Raylan replies. “I’ll try to remember.”

“See you in the surveillance photos,” Tim says, turning towards the door. “Thanks for your total lack of cooperation on the subject of Boyd Crowder’s criminal enterprise.”

“You’re welcome,” Raylan says. He waits until Tim’s back is to him and the trailer door is almost open. “Deputy?”

Tim turns back around. “Yes?”

“You should know…what I do for Boyd.”

“Yeah?”

“A good part of it is blackmailing gay cops.”

Ice flows over Tim’s body. He finds he’s lost the ability to speak, and Raylan is just looking at him, poker-faced.

In the next second, Raylan flops his legs open like they were before, when Tim was in between them.

“So don’t fuck me if there’s a teddy bear in the room,” Raylan continues. “Camera in the eyeball. Just so you know.”

Tim instantly scans the room. No teddy bear. He looks back at Raylan, who is doing a poor job of not laughing at him.

“I thought you might piss yourself,” he says, and he’s trying to sound sorry.

“Thought I might shoot you,” Tim retorts. His heart is slowing back down.

“That seems like more problematic evidence than teddy bear cam,” Raylan says, not scared. “DNA and ballistics?”

Tim wants to hurt him back. “You would have made a good Marshal,” he says. “Guess Boyd had to jack you up with a felony charge so he got to keep fucking you?”

Raylan accepts the retaliation without anger. Tim realizes Raylan has been living with that knowledge for far too long for it to sting much.

“Word of advice,” Tim says. “Divulge the teddy bear cam before they get their gun back. Some cops are dumb.”

Raylan inclines his head. “There’s also one in a duck and a deer head,” he confides.

“But not in here,” Tim repeats.

“No,” Raylan says.

“So long as the only thing stuffed is you,” Tim says, “I’m good?”

“Could put it that way,” Raylan says. “If one is being unpleasantly crude, yeah.”

“You were an asshole,” Tim defends himself, opening the trailer door.

“Yeah,” Raylan calls after him as he exits. “You seemed to like it!”

Tim doesn’t answer, because he can’t deny it or pretend that he won’t be back for more.

~the end~

 


End file.
